MONDAY
6:15 p.m.:
Clemence and I walked to Whole Foods for dinner. He ate minestrone soup. 57 audible slurps, 12 of which were over 2 seconds in length.
10:52 p.m.:
Clemence is leading some sort of group dance to Korean music on the first floor. I’m going upstairs.
TUESDAY
4:57 p.m.:
Clemence is practicing his choreography to several Korean songs in our room. He literally turned on the music and started dancing in the middle of a conversation. He says he didn’t mean for us to notice. He obviously does. (side note: I’m beginning to have my doubts about Jordan, who jumped up exuberantly and joined the dancing)
WEDNESDAY
7:26 a.m.:
Clemence woke up this morning and said in the most pathetic, adorable voice: “Peter?... I caught cold.”
3:25 p.m.:
Clemence is sketching people in the grass behind Norris, which is cool, but he could be a lot less creepy about it.
3:26 p.m.:
Clemence just yelled at some birds – “Stop mating, fools!”
THURSDAY
12:50 a.m.:
Changing clothes in front of other guys is socially acceptable. Taking off your pants in the middle of a conversation and leaving them off, however, is debatable at best. Clemence, put some pants on.
FRIDAY
11:59 p.m.:
Clemence was pretty normal today. I’m worried. What could have possibly gotten into him?
SATURDAY
2:20 p.m.:
Bret Begun was nowhere near as creeped out by Clemence’s portraits of him as I expected. Now Clemence is drawing me.
SUNDAY
2:05 a.m.:
Clemence is talking in his sleep. It’s an angry mix of Korean and English. Is he threatening me? Could I possibly be the target of his unconscious rage? Clemence, I love you. But if you come down here, get ready for a swift kick to the jaw.
Sunday, July 26, 2009
Sunday, July 19, 2009
Week 3
MONDAY
1:09 p.m.:
Clemence called to ask for the phone number Randall, the guy at Hair Cuttery who cut his hair last week. He wants Randall to wax his hair for him. Yes, his hair is a complete disaster today. But Randall is probably busy with paying clients. I’m tempted to spare the guy by giving Clemence the wrong number. I don’t.
TUESDAY
6:30 a.m.:
I jumped out of bed to turn off my alarm. I know it annoys Clemence. I guess the same Death Cab for Cutie song at 6:30 every morning would annoy anyone. Anyway. I promptly turned it off, but when I turned around the top bunk was just a bare mattress.
For a moment I was concerned. “This is completely unlike Clemence,” I thought. “He’s never up before me. He’s rarely up before 8.”
Either way, I have to get ready. I leave the room to take a shower, but as I’m passing the common room I hear a faint growling noise. I glance over my shoulder, but don’t see the angry animal I’m expecting. Then, a double-take. Clemence is on the couch. Half naked. Snoring his lungs out. Why, Clemence. Why?
10:06 p.m.:
Why is Clemence wearing soccer cleats?
11:50 p.m.: Clemence is after Marshall for wearing his jacket, which he left in the common room. I’m locked in my room with Jordan. We’re afraid. God only knows what terrible violence Clemence is capable of.
12:46 a.m.:
Clemence is an unbridled whirlwind of Asian fury. I narrowly dodged a projectile Sharpie which very well could have impaled me. If I don’t make it through the night alive, relay this message: Do. Not. Wear. Clemence’s. Clothes.
WEDNESDAY
11:15 a.m.:
Clemence has taken it upon himself to draw a tiny version of me in his notebook. I don’t know if I was supposed to notice. Mixed feelings…
THURSDAY
9:52 a.m.:
Clemence has Michael Jackson songs stuck in his head. No, Clemence. I won’t “just beat it.”
9:56 a.m.:
The entire room is Clemence’s closet. No, not the designated closet space with shelves and hangers. The entire room. Especially the bar with the fire sprinkler above the beds.
10:30 a.m.:
Overhead from Clemence at breakfast: “So this is what honey butter does to a man!”
5:22 p.m.:
There are few things in this world I truly love. I reserve a special place in the bottom of my heart for them. Opening boxes is one of those things. Packages, Christmas gifts, birthday gifts, pizza boxes. Anything. So when I say I’m annoyed by Clemence’s eagerness to open my packages for me, just know that the word “annoyed” can’t do my feelings justice.
FRIDAY
4:25 p.m.:
Clemence sprinted to the dorms from Fisk to help me with his laptop in our room. Then he gave me half of his brownie. I’m resisting the urge to hug the kid.
5:00 p.m.:
Clemence just got some clothes in the mail. He proceeded to douse each article of clothing with Axe body spray, then hang them all around the room to air out. They are literally dripping with faux-chocolate deodorant. I can’t breathe.
SATURDAY
6:00 a.m.:
Clemence and I shared a bed last night. He fell asleep at the foot of my bed late last night while I was talking to Joshua in our room. I guess the thought to wake him up never really crossed my mind. I would have tried to move him. But I don’t really want to talk about how I’m physically incapable of lifting a 115 pound Korean boy 3 feet onto the top bunk.
So we shared a bed. Yes, I found myself fighting to get Clemence’s feet out of my face several times throughout the night. Yes, it was the worst night of sleep I’ve had in recent memory. But really. What kind of world is this if two heterosexual men can’t share a bed?
1:09 p.m.:
Clemence called to ask for the phone number Randall, the guy at Hair Cuttery who cut his hair last week. He wants Randall to wax his hair for him. Yes, his hair is a complete disaster today. But Randall is probably busy with paying clients. I’m tempted to spare the guy by giving Clemence the wrong number. I don’t.
TUESDAY
6:30 a.m.:
I jumped out of bed to turn off my alarm. I know it annoys Clemence. I guess the same Death Cab for Cutie song at 6:30 every morning would annoy anyone. Anyway. I promptly turned it off, but when I turned around the top bunk was just a bare mattress.
For a moment I was concerned. “This is completely unlike Clemence,” I thought. “He’s never up before me. He’s rarely up before 8.”
Either way, I have to get ready. I leave the room to take a shower, but as I’m passing the common room I hear a faint growling noise. I glance over my shoulder, but don’t see the angry animal I’m expecting. Then, a double-take. Clemence is on the couch. Half naked. Snoring his lungs out. Why, Clemence. Why?
10:06 p.m.:
Why is Clemence wearing soccer cleats?
11:50 p.m.: Clemence is after Marshall for wearing his jacket, which he left in the common room. I’m locked in my room with Jordan. We’re afraid. God only knows what terrible violence Clemence is capable of.
12:46 a.m.:
Clemence is an unbridled whirlwind of Asian fury. I narrowly dodged a projectile Sharpie which very well could have impaled me. If I don’t make it through the night alive, relay this message: Do. Not. Wear. Clemence’s. Clothes.
WEDNESDAY
11:15 a.m.:
Clemence has taken it upon himself to draw a tiny version of me in his notebook. I don’t know if I was supposed to notice. Mixed feelings…
THURSDAY
9:52 a.m.:
Clemence has Michael Jackson songs stuck in his head. No, Clemence. I won’t “just beat it.”
9:56 a.m.:
The entire room is Clemence’s closet. No, not the designated closet space with shelves and hangers. The entire room. Especially the bar with the fire sprinkler above the beds.
10:30 a.m.:
Overhead from Clemence at breakfast: “So this is what honey butter does to a man!”
5:22 p.m.:
There are few things in this world I truly love. I reserve a special place in the bottom of my heart for them. Opening boxes is one of those things. Packages, Christmas gifts, birthday gifts, pizza boxes. Anything. So when I say I’m annoyed by Clemence’s eagerness to open my packages for me, just know that the word “annoyed” can’t do my feelings justice.
FRIDAY
4:25 p.m.:
Clemence sprinted to the dorms from Fisk to help me with his laptop in our room. Then he gave me half of his brownie. I’m resisting the urge to hug the kid.
5:00 p.m.:
Clemence just got some clothes in the mail. He proceeded to douse each article of clothing with Axe body spray, then hang them all around the room to air out. They are literally dripping with faux-chocolate deodorant. I can’t breathe.
SATURDAY
6:00 a.m.:
Clemence and I shared a bed last night. He fell asleep at the foot of my bed late last night while I was talking to Joshua in our room. I guess the thought to wake him up never really crossed my mind. I would have tried to move him. But I don’t really want to talk about how I’m physically incapable of lifting a 115 pound Korean boy 3 feet onto the top bunk.
So we shared a bed. Yes, I found myself fighting to get Clemence’s feet out of my face several times throughout the night. Yes, it was the worst night of sleep I’ve had in recent memory. But really. What kind of world is this if two heterosexual men can’t share a bed?
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